Midnight Falls: A Thrilling Retelling of Cinderella (15 page)

There came a loud knock on the door of Thurlow’s dormitory. He was expecting it. Thurlow turned and waited for the visitor to enter.

The man, named Karl, entered the chamber and acknowledged his superior, his teacher. Like all the Hussars, Karl was not only indebted to Thurlow, the man who gave him a purpose; he was in awe of him.

“What news?” Thurlow inquired.

Karl smiled at the privilege to please his mentor. “It is done, sir,” he replied gleefully. “Everything you asked. We have secured more than enough prisoners for you to choose from.”

“Excellent, Corporal,” Thurlow said as he returned to the mirror to tweak his ensemble. “Where is Halsty now?”

“In the dungeon, securing the prisoners, sir.”

“Go and tell him that I am busy tonight, but will come on the morrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Karl bowed and departed from Thurlow’s presence.

Even with such good fortune, Thurlow’s face was staid. He had not come as far as he had to become cocky or flippant about the elements most vital to his happiness; that which would all but grant him a place in the pantheon: a wife whose beauty exceeded all and a kingdom that he’d tilled and gentrified into a dynasty. A dynasty he’d been denied for so very long.

Ella inspected the home of the Baron and Baroness Ritzlare Delancelle. Their enormous ballroom was a garden of color and light. The Baroness Nicolla Delancelle had been right weeks earlier at the market: whoever had manufactured her amazing tapestries was truly a gifted artist. The borders of the large wall-hanging were a lustrous shade of green, darker even than jade, and depicted in the center were cherubs in some kind of orgy of mischief and experiment. Ella did not like the scene but acknowledged the craftsmanship of its conceiver.

Ella searched out her co-conspirator. Gabriel was a fine actor. When he became Peter, he smiled and laughed, talked and joked. Every so often, he would glance in Ella’s direction and wink when he was sure no one would see him. In spite her dislike of such a condescending gesture, her heart still leapt in delight whenever it happened. Enraged with the conflict of both liking and hating something at the same time, Ella discreetly made her way from the crowd and toward the darkened halls that hugged the ballroom. Gabriel was swarmed with partygoers and did not seem to notice Ella disappear from the assemblage.

The Delancelle mansion was slightly larger than the Delaquix estate. Ella didn’t mind that her home was smaller; what difference did the size make when all that mattered to her was the space and the light. The Delancelle household employed many lanterns along its walls, but Ella still felt like darkness was eclipsing every candle flicker. Perhaps the gloominess had less to do with light than it did with company.

As Ella descended a staircase and approached a lit room at the end of one of the hallways, she heard laughter and wondered—hoped—she could possibly irradiate her evening with a different kind of company.

There were approximately ten servants in what appeared to be a laundry room of sorts. Most of them were women, some as young and younger than Ella, some as old as Marion and even older. When they caught sight of the woman at the threshold of their own soiree, each one of them stood as rapidly as prairie dogs and their parlay halted as though it had been severed from the atmosphere with a blade. Their visitor dumbfounded the workers.

The young woman that stood before them appeared shy and unmistakably nervous. She must have wandered by accident from the gala and become lost in the maze of hallways and rooms. There could be no other explanation. She certainly did not belong with the laundry. Her dress was made of red velvet with a bodice that gathered just above her bosom. The hem was lined with gold trim and her sleeves mutton-chopped at her shoulders, revealing a sliver of pale skin. The gold trim of her bodice looped her slender waist several times before ending at the top of a tiered bustle skirt.

And she was spell-bindingly beautiful.

“Are you lost, Madame?” an older woman asked, as sweetly as if Ella had been a trembling ten-year-old child.

Ella, who might as well have been a trembling ten-year-old child, answered in the most truthful way she could. “Yes and no,” she said.

Oh wonderful
, thought the older woman,
she’s drunken as well
!

“I’m sorry?” another servant, much younger, remarked. Ella scolded herself. Why couldn’t she just speak freely like she did with her own servants, the gypsies—even Gabriel? All she was doing was causing uneasiness for everyone and she hated that something so promising was not coming more naturally to her.

“I apologize,” Ella said with a snicker, “I don’t know what I meant by that. In truth, I am not lost. It became quite stuffy up there in the ballroom and I wanted a change of scene.”

No one moved or said a word, but their faces were cast in puzzlement.

“I give my word,” Ella went on, “I chose to come down here when I heard the laughter and I was hoping I had not missed some hilarious anecdote or perceptive jibe at Baroness’s Delancelle’s perverted tapestry.” Ella giggled and immediately felt like an imbecile.

Still, no movement and no reply.

“Please,” Ella said, “I dislike most of those people as much as you do and desperately just want some place to go while my …
uncle
schmoozes every last one of them. Just go on. I swear you will get in no trouble from me. I don’t even have to remain with you. I will just go sit out in the hall on this chair here and secretly agree with everything you say!”

Ella did not realize until the end how desperate she sounded. She hadn’t even noticed the dejection entering her tone. She was embarrassed and turned to leave the workers to their more than deserved respite.

“What if everything we say happens to pertain to
you
?”

The voice was distinctly male and Ella turned back to see almost every person in the room aghast at one particular young gentleman, their mouths gaping. Ella grinned at the man she’d never seen before in sheer gratitude.

“That’s even better!” she exclaimed.

Gabriel could not find Ella’s face in the crowd. It had been almost an hour since he’d last spotted her and his frustration at her truancy turned to inquisitiveness and then worry. Had she gone home? He looked and beheld Isolda watching him unabashedly. He did not particularly relish speaking with the woman, but knew she was the next likely person who would trace Ella’s footsteps.

Isolda watched as Peter made his way toward her. She slapped her husband’s arm and the short, barrel-chested man with a full head of brown curls grunted in displeasure of being torn away from his own conversations.

“Ah, Peter,” Isolda said, her arms wide as if inviting the man in for a hug. “I was afraid you would never find your way to me. You don’t mind if I call you Peter, do you?”

“Of course not, Baroness,” Peter said with a smile, “we are family, after all.”

“Peter, do you remember my husband Henry?”

Henry Armitage turned toward Peter and shook his hand.

“My memory is as reliable as a sand castle,” Peter said, his hand still entwined with Henry’s. “I ask your pardon that I can’t recall your face, Baron.”

“Not at all,” Henry replied stoically. The Baron’s eyes were drawn slightly and he examined Peter carefully. Gabriel could not discern the motive behind the man’s scrutiny, but it left him unsettled. Henry bowed politely and turned to resume his previous relations with another guest.

“Baroness—” Peter began but was interrupted.

“Isolda,” the baroness insisted.

“Isolda,” he complied, “have you seen Ella as of late?”

“Not in the last hour. I imagine she scampered off to the gardens for a stroll in the cool air. She is like that, you know.”

“Yes, I do. I would just like to be sure, as it is now my duty to look after her.”

“And you are performing the task marvelously! Between you and me, Ella would never have been invited to attend this event if it were not for you and your restorative influence.”

“How do you mean?”

“The Baroness Delancelle has been disenchanted by Ella’s frequent dismissals of her sincerest counsel. The baroness is very sensitive. As her friend, it is often up to me to make amends for my niece’s careless actions.”

“You have been good to Ella. I thank you on her behalf.”

“It is I who must thank
you
on Ella’s behalf, Peter. Everything you do and the way you do it is in our niece’s best interest. It is your good nature, kind rapport, and staunch observance of family and tradition that aided me in convincing Baroness Delancelle to invite Ella tonight. And this will be the first of many invitations. It is all because of you, Peter.”

Gabriel nodded, but felt uncomfortable with Isolda’s praise. Why was Ella’s aunt so complimentary of a man she’d only met a few times? Had he just been portraying Peter so well that she could not help herself but swoon? If such was true, it had come far too easily for Gabriel to reconcile. He mulled over the ramifications of each possibility in his mind.

Until he saw
him.

It took only a fraction of a second for Gabriel’s line of thought to be eviscerated by the firestorm of wrath that had been kindling for some fifteen years in his soul. He felt as though his skin had been turned inside out and his heart run through with a dull sword.

Wilhelm Thurlow Degent.

A demon that had lain dormant in his heart for years awoke and teased away at Gabriel’s thoughts.

He betrayed your brother after pretending to be his best friend. You could kill Thurlow right here in this ballroom. You could rip his limbs from his body with your bare hands. It would be so easy for you.

Thulow had entered the gala and gone through the pleasantries of greeting his hosts and countless others. He searched for Ella’s face but was unsuccessful. It was no great concern. He was there to locate Ella’s uncle, Peter. He had not an inkling of what the man looked like. It created no hindrance for Thurlow, however, as Baroness Nicolla Delancelle, who’d already groveled over the handsome Duke that evening, pointed him out with ease.

Thurlow watched the man for several minutes, discreetly. This was Ella’s uncle? The man was much younger than Thurlow had believed he would be. He was tall, displaying a mien of mystery. There hovered around him almost a menacing quality.

And the man looked nothing like his niece.

He looked very familiar to Thurlow. He could not quell the nagging urge to stare until the uncanny resemblance to … whomever was finally revealed. But it was not happening fast enough and Thurlow began walking toward the gentleman, who, until that very second, had been fully engaged in discussion with a pleasant looking woman in a golden dress.

As he neared, the duke made eye contact and Thurlow got a chill down his spine. He did not know why such a thing would happen, but it displeased him greatly. He did not get chills.

“You must be the Duke of Ebersole,” Thurlow said, extending his arm, “it is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Captain Wilhelm Thurlow Degent.”

Gabriel did not instantly raise his hand to greet the captain. He heard the voice in his head buzzing at him like it was not enough just to think the thoughts; he had to be bludgeoned by them as well.

Shake his hand. If you are not going to kill this man, you are going to be his friend.

“Likewise,” Gabriel said, returning the handshake.

“I hear you are settling here in Gwent after a long sabbatical,” Thurlow went on, unknowingly delivering his own blows to Gabriel’s brutal assault.

“Well, I don’t know how settled I intend to make myself, but you are close enough, Captain.”

Thurlow laughed boisterously and set his sight on Isolda, who stood behind Gabriel. “I am sorry,” Thurlow said, taking Isolda’s hand and kissing it tenderly, “I don’t believe I have had the pleasure.”

Isolda blushed and turned to Peter with a pout. Gabriel knew what he was expected to do. “Captain,” he said, shifting his body so that Isolda could step closer, “this is the Baroness Isolda Armitage.”

“How charming,” Thurlow said warmly. He was an excellent liar. He knew precisely who the woman was. It was his business to know. She was Ella’s paternal aunt.